


Undefined

by firechild (cascadewaters)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other, Spanking, furt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadewaters/pseuds/firechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all act a little out-of-character sometimes, and we all make mistakes; it's what we do afterward that really defines us and our relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undefined

Undefined – for Marie  
By FC  
Rated PG-13  
Warnings: Erm… duh…  
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of them. I’m not making any money.   
A/N: I started watching this show specifically so that I could write something for Marie, and this idea wouldn’t leave me alone. Yes, it plays with the timeline and isn’t just duct-taped to canon, but it insisted on coming out, and it addresses something that really bugs me about the show, so…

\-----

 

He was so tired after the series of meetings and flights that he might have missed it if… well, no, actually, there would have been no missing it. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the damage to the back corner of his Buick, or the fact that Carol’s little pathside herb garden looked like it’d gotten on the wrong side of a bulldozer. 

 

The façade of the house looked fine, and the front door was locked when he reached it, which lowered his blood pressure just a little. Not much, though. 

 

The house was quiet, maybe a little too quiet, given the two very… expressive teenagers who shared it with their respective parents. Carol was off teaching or mentoring or something at some girls’ retreat in Pennsylvania, and spring break officially started tomorrow, so he wasn’t entirely surprised that no one was around, but he could feel his blood pressure inching up again. Something had happened, and no one seemed overly concerned with taking responsibility for it.

 

Sighing, Burt dropped his luggage and pulled out his cell phone, and then had a different thought. He put the cell back in his pocket and trudged to the kitchen, picking up the house phone. He dialed Kurt’s number, and didn’t bother to not roll his eyes as he waited twice through half of a verse of some whiny song about clubbing. Finally, Kurt picked up.

 

“No, Finn, I haven’t seen your wall charger.”

 

Burt blinked in confusion, filed it away, and said, “Good to know.” He was relieved not to hear any pain or distress in his kid’s voice. Even small impacts could injure someone.

 

There was a pause, and he could hear Blaine in the background talking about some part-time job, and then, in a careful tone, Kurt said, “Dad?” Blaine went silent, and Burt grinned to himself. It was fun to mess with the boys sometimes. 

 

“No, it’s the tooth fairy. I was just calling to see if you’d borrowed my tutu again. Yes, Kurt, it’s your dad. How’s it going?”

 

“Y-you’re home?”

 

Burt sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “Yeeeeeees, son, I’m home. It’s sort of where I go when I’m not working or playing politician. What are you guys up to tonight?”

 

“Oh. Uh. We’re… we’re just, you know, having a latte.”

 

Personally, Burt kind of thought Kurt sounded like he’d already had a week’s worth of lattes. He kind of figured that Kurt and Blaine could be… fooling around, and he really didn’t know if he was supposed to be okay with that or not, but he had other things on his mind tonight. “Okay. I’m trusting you to make good choices. You know, about lattes. Say, I was wondering, you know anything about my passenger taillight, or Carol’s plants?” He slipped it into the conversation casually, like he was asking whether Kurt had seen his black cap; he might not be the world’s best dad, but he’d learned that teenagers tended to reveal more when they were off their guard. When Kurt didn’t respond right away, Burt listened to the silence for about thirty seconds and then called his son’s name.

 

“Uh. Oh, sorry, Dad. I was just… uh… paying the tab. I don’t know what to tell you; I didn’t have anything to do with it. You might check with Finn.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Burt ended the call and hung up the handset, stewing quietly. After a minute, he got up and took his luggage up to his room. He was pulling out his shaving kit when he heard throbbing bass from a stereo, so he went to his window and looked down. He saw a vaguely familiar car pull away from his curb and his stepson trudge up the driveway. Finn’s little Swift—the product of a recent trade-- was nowhere in sight. By the time the boy had gotten into the house, Burt was back downstairs, his blood just this side of boiling. 

 

\-----

 

Burt didn’t waste any time grilling Finn about the damage to his car and, more importantly, the little herb garden Carol had wanted so badly. Finn, obviously surprised and off-guard, at first opened his mouth as if to defend himself, and then Burt saw something pass across the kid’s expression, and the boy closed his mouth and his eyes and dropped his head. That was good—the lie of omission was bad enough without adding an outright lie. Burt didn’t really give him a chance to explain himself, and Finn didn’t really try. It wasn’t like there was going to be any excuse, anyway; Burt just set about making real sure that Finn never forgot the consequences of his actions.

 

\-----

 

A couple of hours later, Burt looked up from a recorded episode of Survivor as Kurt and Blaine came through the front door. “Hey, boys,” he said.

 

“Hi, dad,” Kurt said. He seemed to have gotten the lattes out of his system, and now he just looked kind of tired. Blaine was so subdued that he just gave Burt a tiny wave. “How was your trip and… stuff?”

 

Burt almost chuckled at that. To be fair, he couldn’t keep up with all of that ‘stuff’ half the time, either, so he wasn’t real bothered that his self-absorbed diva-boy couldn’t be more specific. “Trip was okay. Stuff was… stuff.” He pushed himself off of the couch and started toward the mud room—he’d figured out that he’d rather pay attention and get his laundry out of the dryer before it had a chance to wrinkle than to have to stand around messing with a hot iron. “You two got any big plans for this week?”

 

He was a little surprised not to get an immediate answer, and he started to wonder if maybe there was trouble between the boys. That, he was most definitely not ready to handle; despite the condition of her garden (and her kid,) Burt wished that Carol was home.

 

“Um… well, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Kurt finally spoke up from behind him. “See, Blaine’s never been on any kind of treasure hunt before, and they’re having this special day camp thing this week down by Grand Lake, with kids who’ve been abused, and they’re gonna play games and have camp fires and teach them geocaching, and—“

 

“And the volunteer work with the kids would look pretty shiny on your records. I hear you.” Burt straightened and turned with the laundry basket against his hip; Kurt had this hopeful expression on his face. “Kurt, you do realize that they generally don’t have campfires in shoe stores, right? To be honest, I’m having kind of a hard time picturing either of you anywhere near a state park.”

 

Kurt gave him a look of fond exasperation. “Yes, Dad, we’re both aware that this would call for some… rustic reaccessorizing, but it really would look good on our records, and besides, it should be fun. Do you remember when we used to have treasure hunts?”

 

Burt turned wistful. “Yeah, I do. Your mom would have us hunting for everything from birthday presents to your misplaced tap shoes.” He was a little surprised that Kurt had brought up anything involving his mother, but he supposed that it was time that they should be able to talk about her like this. It still ached a little, but the ache had dulled and sweetened. He pulled his focus back to Kurt. “No drinking, no texting while you drive, and there will be no spending the night anywhere but at home. Homes. Separate homes.”

 

Kurt lit up when he realized that Burt was giving the all-clear. “Yes!! Thanks, Dad, you won’t regret it! We are going to have sooooo much fun searching for treasure… and, of course, helping those poor kids.”

 

“Uh huh. I think you just want to see Blaine trying to roast marshmallows in a tie and vest.” Kurt grinned at that, and Burt grinned back at him. “If that’s what you want to do with your spring break, then that’s fine with me, as long as it’s okay with Blaine’s parents. And I know you’ll both respect the rules and not do anything stupid; I trust you.” Kurt blinked at that, and Burt wondered if the boy had noticed the slight emphasis on that last word.

 

“Great—thanks, Dad,” Kurt said, and sprang forward to grab a surprise hug before bouncing back into the living room to give Blaine the good news. Burt carried his laundry through the kitchen and upstairs to the master suite, taking a couple of minutes to hang up whatever might wrinkle. He finished quickly enough and carried the basket back downstairs, realizing about halfway down that the boys were behind him; he hadn’t heard them come up in the first place, but he guessed that having them come down again was probably better for his sanity than knowing that they were up in Kurt’s room.

 

Everything was fine until Kurt asked him where Finn was and if Burt thought that the older boy might want to do the camp thing with them; he explained that Finn was in the backyard and would be for the foreseeable future, and Kurt, baffled, walked to the back door and looked out the window, having to scan the yard a couple of times to spot his stepbrother. Burt watched Blaine join Kurt, and then walked up behind them, rolling his eyes when he realized that Finn hadn’t turned on the back porch light. He reached over and flipped the switch, and they all saw Finn freeze for a moment and then go back to work with the shovel, his back to the house. “Finn’s not going anywhere this week, or until I decide otherwise. Confucius say it is not wise to damage stepfather’s Buick or mother’s garden.”

 

Kurt turned to him with huge eyes. “What’d you do, tell him to dig his own grave?”

 

Burt rolled his eyes. “No, drama queen; since he destroyed Carol’s herbs, he’s gonna make a new garden for her, with new plants and markers and all that… garden stuff. And then he’s gonna work off the cost of my taillight, and whatever other damage I find. Now you two do me a favor and figure out what to do for dinner; I’m gonna grab a shower. And, Kurt? No soy. In any language.” With that, he turned and went up to wash off the plane ride, not really caring whether the younger boys had noticed that Finn’s movements were a little stiff.

 

\-----

 

Monday morning, Burt left breakfast on the table for the boys, along with a note for Finn about the property lines, and went to the tire shop. He knew that Kurt and Blaine planned to leave for camp at around 8AM, and he had a neighbor scheduled to check that Finn was working throughout the day, so he wasn’t too concerned about any of that. He might not be too confident about Finn’s intelligence just now, but he was pretty sure that the kid understood that disobeying now would be an epically bad idea. 

 

About half an hour before closing, Burt took a call from Harlan Post, his old high school running back and favorite auto-body guy. They shot the breeze for a couple of minutes, and then Burt asked why Harlan had called.

 

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Sorry, you know how I get scattered if I’m not elbow-deep in car parts. I was calling to give you the estimate for your kid’s car, since I can’t get hold of him.”

 

Burt blinked a few times. “Uh, Har, my kid doesn’t have a car.” How many hits to the head had this guy taken when they were in high school?

 

“Really?” It sounded like Harlan was scrabbling around in a stack of papers. “I coulda sworn…” Burt was patient for another couple of minutes, and then Harlan said, “It had to be. I have his car here.”

 

Burt counted to five in his head, then said very slowly and gently, “Harlan. My kid does not have a car for you to have there. He sold it to help pay tuition to Dalton. His boyfriend drives him around.”

 

“Oh. No! Not that kid! Your other kid! The big one!”

 

It took a minute for that to register, and then Burt opened his mouth to say that ‘the big one’ wasn’t his kid, but got sidetracked by another thought. “So what’s the damage?” Yeah, Finn was responsible for the cost, but Burt wanted to get an idea of how it all might have happened. 

 

“Oh, nothing too major. I mean, he’ll have to get some of it repainted, and it might be kinda hard to find that… melted-cheese-square yellow again, but the graffiti came off easy enough, at least on the fender. I took off the driver’s door to work on the frame, and the door kinda fell apart, so I’m trying to find him a new one, and I won’t charge him for that, or for fixing the seal. Frame itself hammered back into shape easy enough.”

 

Now Burt was really confused. Fender? Graffiti? Door? Huh? But still, he had more pressing things on his mind. “What about the front end? How bad is that?”

 

Harlan sounded confused. “Front end?”

 

Burt rolled his eyes. “Yes, Harlan, the front end.”

 

“Uh… it’s fine? Really, I didn’t see anything there, ‘cept some old gunk from someone tryin’ to put bumper stickers on the front. Kinda dumb, if you ask me, but whatever.”

 

Burt didn’t even realize that he’d stood up. “Fine? How can it be fine? He took out the back corner of my Buick!” He started to pace his tiny office.

 

The mechanic laughed. “Good one, Hummel! Oh, trust me, if this little thing had kissed a Buick, your kid’s grill would be in his front seat. And your kid would probably be in your backseat—his seatbelts are some after-market insurance job, worthless. Actually, most of this car is worthless. But, you know, whatever works for you guys.”

 

Burt’s mouth worked, but nothing came out for a few seconds as he tried to work out what he was hearing. He finally asked, “Well, what about the back end?” Finn didn’t generally back into the driveway, but who knew?

 

“Hmmm.” Burt could hear Post moving from his office out into the shop to check. “Nope,” he said after a few seconds, “rear’s cool. You might wanna talk to him about replacing his tailpipe, though—this one’s hanging a little low. He hits that dip coming out of the back lot at the high school, he might just lose it. But the bumper, the lights, the hatch—all good.”

 

Burt sat back down in his little rolling chair, more baffled than ever. He knew that, whatever Post’s shortcomings, the guy knew cars; he also knew that his old buddy would have no reason to lie for Finn, or for anyone else. Which meant that Finn hadn’t driven the Swift into the Buick and over Carol’s herbs. Had he been borrowing someone else’s car when it happened? 

 

\-----

 

Burt called Post, who agreed to stick around after-hours that evening to meet, and the two of them spent a few minutes looking at both cars. The Buick was drivable and the cosmetic repairs would come out of Finn’s pocket, so Burt didn’t hand it over for repairs just yet. Harlan didn’t really want to say what had been spray-painted on Finn’s car, and Burt didn’t think it was worth pushing him; teenagers could be stupid and mean, especially in a place like Lima, and between rival football teams and rival glee clubs, it was anyone’s guess. But the mechanic had been straight with Burt—the Swift had definitely not ‘kissed’ a Buick. Finn was way too young to rent a car, and had only a part-time job whenever Burt needed an extra broom-pusher at the tire shop. He’d traded away his only valuable possessions to get the little Suzuki in the first place. So he must have borrowed someone else’s car. Burt couldn’t remember whether Rachel had her own wheels, but he supposed that he could tackle that later.

 

When he got home, Finn was in the backyard, standing on the patio, bent over to read something, looking up every few seconds to survey different spots in the yard. The left half of the yard was staked and roped into a rough rectangle, though the stakes looked a bit precarious. Burt called the neighbor, who reported that Finn had worked all day, taking only bathroom breaks and one short intermission when she insisted that he drink some Gatorade and eat a tuna sandwich. Finn had passed on dinner last night, so Burt guessed that the kid must be starving, but he seemed absorbed, so Burt went up to shower and change and then call for pizza.

 

\-----

 

Kurt came in just after eleven, and he barely took time to wave Blaine off down the road before scrambling to the fireplace, talking about taking a heavier coat in the morning because the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since noon. He’d eaten at camp and just wanted hot tea, so Burt went to make some while Kurt walked to the backdoor and flipped on the light to look at the progress in the backyard. Burt brought him his tea, and the two stood quietly for a couple of minutes before Kurt asked what the plan was for the new garden.

 

“Beats me. I just told him to make it happen.” Burt shrugged.

 

Kurt asked, “Surely, he has a plan--he didn’t lay it out for you?”

 

Burt turned off the porch light and guided his son back to the bottom of the stairs. “Finn’s not really in a chatty mood, at least not around me. And he worked all day, so he’s pretty worn out; he didn’t even have the energy for pizza. He just showered and crashed a couple hours ago.”

 

Kurt’s brow furrowed, and he sent a worried glance up the stairs. “That doesn’t sound like Finn at all. Are you sure he’s okay?”

 

Burt waved it off. “He’s fine, kid. He’s just not happy with me right now. And that’s okay, ‘cause I’m not all that thrilled with him, either. He’ll get over it, and I’m sure we won’t ever have this problem again. Hey, that reminds me—does Rachel have her own car?”

 

Kurt glowered at his father. “Gee, Dad, you’re just all heart. It’s spring break, and at this rate, he’ll be half-dead when school starts again. It’s not like he’s a hardened criminal—it’s Finn, for Pete’s sake. You know, your football buddy? You used to like him, remember?” He brushed past his father and went up to bed without actually answering the question, leaving his father blinking and gaping. 

 

\-----

 

For some reason, the question of whose car Finn had been driving wouldn’t leave Burt alone. He was dozing fitfully when a thought hit him—tires. Tire tracks. Why hadn’t he thought about this before? So he finally gave up after a couple of hours and trudged downstairs with his big flashlight. 

 

Thanks to the numbing cold, the tracks looked almost fresh. They was also obviously too wide to be from the Swift. He was actually pretty sure that the tires had third-generation Aquatreads , and he’d guess they were from a heavier vehicle, something with a higher profile than the little compact or even the Buick. He was about to run back inside to get warm when a familiar scent reached him, and he followed his nose. He almost missed it, between his shivering and the poor lighting, but he finally spotted it—on a few of the less-crushed little plants glistened drops of blue antifreeze. Someone had a leak.

 

There really wasn’t much he could do with that information at 1:30 in the morning, so Burt took himself back into his warm house and went to bed to grab at least some sleep.

 

\-----

 

Burt wasn’t much for fixing breakfast, so he got to his favorite donut place before all the good stuff was gone, and when the boys got up, Burt greeted Kurt in the kitchen with a bag of spinach-and-egg –white burritos and a couple of eclaires for Kurt and Blaine to share on the way to camp. Burt ate and got ready to leave, but stuck around until Kurt was gone and Finn appeared; he insisted that his stepson actually eat half a dozen hot sausage rolls and a couple of donuts before plunging back into the garden project. Finn didn’t seem angry, just uncomfortable, and somehow that softened Burt a little; come to think of it, Finn had mostly seemed tired and quiet since this whole thing had started. The stepfather tried to make conversation, but his questions about the garden got only shrugs. Burt asked casually about the Swift and how Finn had been getting around, and the boy turned an interesting shade of red and mumbled that he’d better get to work.

 

Burt had a quick word with the neighbor and then went on to the tire shop; he’d been there for about an hour when he noticed the start of the snow, and he called the neighbor (how was it that he didn’t have Finn’s number? And hadn’t realized that?) and left her a message, asking her to have Finn stop working and go in to get warm. He was starting to feel bad that he hadn’t really paid attention to the falling temperatures before; he didn’t want Carol coming home to a Finnsicle. Besides, he hadn’t exactly been gentle on Sunday night, and he’d guess that Finn was probably still a little sore. 

 

He didn’t hear back from the neighbor, so Burt decided to take his lunch hour at home with reheated pizza and his thawed-out stepkid. When he got into the house, though, Finn didn’t answer his yell, and Burt had to hunt around before he finally figured out that the kid was standing in the middle of the garden plot, looking exhausted and thoroughly confused as he shifted his gaze between the frosted ground around him and the book in his hand. Burt opened the door and barked for him to get in the house, and Finn obeyed; the kid explained that the neighbor had told him to go in and get warm, which he had, but she hadn’t said that he was to stay in, so he figured that Burt wanted him working. Burt felt so bad about that that he actually told Finn that he was sorry for not thinking sooner about the cold. Finn just shrugged like it didn’t matter, but Burt said that gardening was cancelled for the rest of the day, at least, and he set up both of them in the living room with hot pizza and a Flashpoint marathon. Finn was surprised, but he eventually stretched out facedown on the couch, looking like he might start dozing at any minute (which was fine, since Burt felt like that himself.)

 

Finn roused himself and went up to grab a shower as soon as he was done eating, so he didn’t see Kurt and Blaine come in, snapping at each other in harsh whispers. Burt managed to catch enough to know that Kurt didn’t think something was really necessary, while Blaine did. He let them snipe for a minute before he cleared his throat and welcomed them back. They were both so startled that Blaine literally ran into Kurt, and the two nearly went down in a heap. Burt would have laughed if the two teenagers hadn’t looked so… disgruntled.

 

“Everything okay at the camp? I didn’t expect you till late again.”

 

Burt found himself suddenly looking at two very young, very unhappy faces. Kurt tried to put on a reassuring smile and said that Blaine just wasn’t feeling well today, but for once, Blaine sidestepped and then put himself between the Hummels, asking very somberly if he and Burt could sit down and talk. Burt agreed, and over the next few minutes, Blaine told a very interesting story.

_____

 

The Andersons had had Sunday brunch as usual, and as they’d retired to their newspapers with coffee, Ingrid Anderson had cheerfully informed her son that she’d volunteered (Blaine’s term was actually ‘voluntold’) Blaine to spend the following Friday through Sunday in Independence, cleaning out his great-aunt’s house so that she could sell it and move into a retirement complex. No one liked to be volunteered for something without being consulted, and no one liked this particular great-aunt, and Blaine had already made weekend plans with Kurt—none of which had changed anything as far as Ingrid had been concerned. She’d blithely pulled the guilt trip card, topping it off with a reminder that Blaine was still a minor and that privileges like driving and time with his ‘little boyfriend’ were not guaranteed. The normally level-headed boy had gotten so angry that he could barely see straight, and all he could think about was venting to Kurt. So he’d jumped into his vehicle and made tracks for Lima… and when he’d taken the turn into the driveway too fast and had damaged the herb garden and the Buick, he’d still been too angry to really care. It had taken Kurt twenty minutes to calm Blaine enough for reality to hit, and then the boy had been horrified and distraught. Kurt had assured him that they’d figure out a solution before Burt got home on Monday night, and had taken his boyfriend to the mall for some retail therapy after guessing that Blaine’s car was safe to drive. Just after they’d left, Finn had stopped by the house for something, had seen the damage, and had frantically called to check on Kurt; Burt’s little angel had just told him that they were fine and that Finn had to swear not to say anything to anyone. No one had expected Burt home before Monday evening, so the boys had thought that they’d have plenty of time to deal with the situation.

 

Blaine wanted Burt to know that he’d wanted to come clean since Sunday afternoon.

 

“Why didn’t you?” Burt could see that the kid felt terrible, so he kept the harsh out of his tone, but it was a fair question, and one that Burt had every right—and a need—to ask. 

 

Blaine flinched a little and Kurt protested, but Burt’s sharp look and Blaine’s placating hand stilled Kurt, and the mechanic turned his gaze back to Blaine. Burt had to give the boy a little credit—Blaine drew himself up and made himself meet Burt’s eyes. “I should have. I wish I had. I just… I was so freaked out about what I’d done, and Kurt…” He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and evidently decided to stop passing responsibility. “I chose not to. I was, I guess, worried that you might tell Kurt that he couldn’t spend time with me anymore. But that doesn’t matter—I could have done the right thing, but I didn’t. I’m sorry, Mr. Hummel.” 

 

Burt looked from one boy to the other and back for a long moment, then asked, “Have you told anyone else?”

 

Both boys shook their heads. “Just you. And Finn. Well, sort of Finn.”

 

Burt nodded and blew out a breath. Two wide sets of eyes followed him as he turned on his heel and went to the kitchen to get some water, then told the boys, “Couch. Plant yourselves. Now.” They hesitated until Burt’s expression sent them on their way. “And no TV,” he called after them. 

 

Burt took a minute to breathe and to make sure that he had his thoughts in order, and then he pulled out his cell phone, went to his contacts, and made a call. “Hi, Mr. Anderson? Yeah, it’s Burt Hummel, Kurt’s dad…”

 

About thirty seconds later, he walked into the living room, phone in hand, to see the boys fidgeting on the couch. They’d obviously heard who he’d called, as he hadn’t made any effort to be quiet.

 

Burt focused on Blaine and said softly, “I haven’t told him anything other than that you’re okay. What you tell him is entirely up to you, but he at least deserves to know that much. I know I would.” With that, he handed Blaine his cell phone, with the screen showing Mr. Anderson on hold. Blaine was a little pale, but he nodded at Burt before looking at the phone, tapping the ‘resume’ button on the screen, and gingerly putting the device to his ear. Kurt shot his father a beseeching look, but Burt just responded with raised eyebrows before leaving the room, showing the boys that he wouldn’t hover or try to sway Blaine’s decision.

 

But he didn’t go so far that he didn’t hear Blaine suck it up and confess to his own father; the mechanic smiled proudly to himself at that. Blaine was a good kid—so was Kurt—and Burt knew from personal experience that it was possible to rise to the occasion even after making huge mistakes. He was glad to see that Blaine was choosing to do just that.

 

He stayed gone until he heard Blaine call out for him, and then he made his way back to the living room at a measured pace. Blaine held out the phone and said quietly, “He’d like to speak with you again.” With an obvious effort, he added, “Whatever happens, whatever you decide… I’m to respect your authority.”

 

Burt nodded a little as he reclaimed his phone. He turned his back to the boys but stayed in the living room because it was just easier as he resumed the call. “Mr. Anderson?”

 

“Oh, please, by all means, call me Roland,” the deep, cultured voice rolled. “Listen, I want to tell you how much I appreciate your calling me today, and having my son speak with me himself about this. And I’m in Seattle at the moment on business, but I want you to know that I fully intend to discuss his reckless behavior with him, in great detail, as soon as I see him. I’m surprised at all of this; it’s not what I expect from Blaine at all.”

 

“Oh, I know that feeling, Mr.—Roland. I’m as surprised as you are, with both of them. Well, all three of them. And I am gonna get to the bottom of all of this.”

 

“I am somehow sure that you will. Burt—may I call you Burt? I have great respect for you; I’ve heard only good things about your management skills and about the way you treat your son. So I’m going to ask you to do something for me: as I said, I will deal with my son’s dangerous behavior myself, as I feel that that’s my duty as his father, but I think it would be good for both of you if you would decide on some consequences for the damages to your property. Within reason, of course, but I’ve a feeling that that won’t be an issue with you.”

 

Burt blinked, surprised to be outright asked to discipline someone else’s kid, although what Roland was proposing did make a lot of sense. “Uh, sure. I can do that. And Burt’s fine.”

 

“I know it sounds odd, and I’m sorry to throw one more complication your way. It may even sound to you, an ever-present parent, like laziness on my part; but believe me when I say that I love my son very much, and wouldn’t trust just anyone to mete out consequences to him.”

 

Burt smiled a little. “Oh, I believe you, and I appreciate your trust. Should I just send him on home when I’m done?”

 

Roland seemed to take a moment to think. “Ah, no, thank you, I think I’d rather have him picked up, and make arrangements for his vehicle a bit later, if that’s not too much trouble.”

 

“Oh, that’d be fine. I’ll need to think through some details, but I think he should be ready to go in an hour, tops.”

 

“Fine, fine, I’ll arrange a pickup. And Burt? Thank you for your understanding.”

 

“No problem. You have a safe trip, and let me know if you have any questions.”

 

Burt ended the call and turned to look at the boys. “Okay, you two, bundle up—scarves, hats, coats, gloves, boots, the works. I want you pulling up every bit of Carol’s garden out front. Kurt can grab a trash bag from the pantry. Blaine, if Kurt doesn’t have enough winter gear in the hall closet, you can borrow some of mine. Come on!”

 

The two stunned teenagers hopped up at his last command and went to obey. Burt made sure that they really did bundle up, and he glanced at a clock and made a mental note of the time so that he could get them back inside after about twenty minutes; he wanted them working, not frozen.

 

After they trooped outside to do his bidding, the mechanic turned and started up the stairs. He really did want time to hash through the particulars of his idea, but there was something else he needed to check while he was at it.

 

He was going to knock on Finn’s door, but then he saw that it was open about halfway; he could see his stepson sprawled facedown in threadbare sweats on the twin-size bed, obviously asleep. Burt decided to let Finn have his nap, but he quietly stepped into the room, curious to see how it’d been set up. He hadn’t been in Finn’s room since they’d moved into the house.

 

He’d expected the football posters, the smattering of small trophies and local news articles, and the small piles of clutter here and there. He hadn’t expected to see a couple of Simon & Garfunkel albums or a cheap magazine rack filled with comic books. The small room really wasn’t messy, per se—the clutter was really more in stations than anything else, and the only problem Burt could see was that Finn’s bed was shorter than Finn; the mechanic found himself smiling a little at that.

 

He was leaving the room when Finn shifted and asked what Burt wanted, so the man turned back and stepped over to where Finn could easily see him. “I came up to check on you, make sure that you’re okay. And to ask you a question.” He saw Finn’s look of confusion, but the boy just waited, so Burt continued. “I came home the other night to a mess; now, I was awful quick to believe that you were to blame, and I’m sorry for that, but what I wanna know is, why didn’t you tell me that you hadn’t done it?”

 

Finn was surprised at the direction of the conversation, but then his expression turned wry. “How did you find out?” He sighed. “I’m supposed to be Kurt’s big brother now, and it’s my job to protect him, so that’s what I did. Besides, would you have believed me?”

 

Burt opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to decide how to respond; much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t honestly say yes. It had been too easy to believe that Finn would be responsible for any given misdeed, and while part of that was Burt’s natural tendency to take his own usually-honest child at his word, part of it was something else entirely, something that shouldn’t still have a place in his home. Sighing a little sadly, he glanced behind him and reached back to appropriate Finn’s old desk chair, swinging it around so that he could sit backward on it (and discovering that it was a little off-balance, so he had to keep his feet planted to off-set the way the chair tilted to the left.) Burt rolled his eyes at the chair, and then focused again on Finn, who looked like he wasn’t sure whether it was safe to be amused. 

 

“Blaine brought Kurt home and fessed up about the whole thing. Finn, you *are* Kurt’s big brother now, and I think you’re doin’ pretty well with it, considering that you came into it with pretty much no experience, and that’ll come with time and life. But time and life tend to teach us a lot of stuff we didn’t expect, and the way I see it, there are two major lessons here for each of us.” Finn raised an eyebrow and looked wary, but didn’t interrupt, so Burt went on. “For you, one of those lessons is that it’s better to be honest with me. You’re right, I’d have had a hard time taking you at your word the other night, and that’s something that I need to deal with, but from now on I need to know that I can trust what you tell me, good or bad. So I’d like for you to promise me that you’ll be straight with me, and in return I’ll promise you that I’ll at least listen. Deal?” Finn thought it over for a second and then nodded, and Burt nodded in return. “Good. We’ll talk about your second lesson later; right now, I think it’s more important for me to tell you one of mine, which is that I can be too stubborn sometimes. I need to learn to let go of my pride or my power or whatever other stupid thing that’s kept me from looking you in the eye and telling you that I forgive you, Finn. Thing is, I thought I had forgiven you, but I was wrong; I’d let go of the anger, yeah, but that by itself isn’t enough, isn’t forgiveness. You messed up, you said some really hurtful things to my kid, and then you apologized and you actually showed that you’d changed. And you’ve been showing it. Fact is, you started working on it that day, you slipped some, but then you haven’t let your brother down a single time since the wedding.

 

“None of us is perfect, Finn. We all make mistakes, and sometimes we make really big ones. Yours was a pretty big one, but it wasn’t the end of the world, and you’ve shown that you’re bigger than your mistake. I’m… I’m real proud of you for that, kid.” He saw Finn’s surprise and an unexpected warm flush, which made his next admission harder. “I know that I’ve screwed up plenty of times, some of them pretty spectacularly; pretty sure that I did that in more than one way the other night. I didn’t just take Kurt’s implication and roll with it—I let my own stupid pride convince me not to even really talk to you. I don’t remember saying anything to you about why you were being punished.”

 

Now Finn looked befuddled. “Um… beeeeecause of the damage to your car, and Mom’s plants…?” His voice was quiet and a little glassy, and he’d clearly not considered that there might be more to Burt’s anger.

 

Burt managed to suppress a wince, but he did roll his neck and rub at the back of his head for a moment as he decided what to say. “Okay, make that three big lessons for each of us. My next one is to remember that I owe you more than what you got the other night—“ and he held up a hand at Finn’s flinch, “I mean more than just yelling and punishment. See, if it’d just been some minor damage to property, I’d have been steamed, sure, but it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal; I’d probably just’ve had you work off the cost in the shop or something. Adding in your mom’s plants made it a lot worse for me just because that’s part of how she and I love each other. But the car is just a car, and plants can be replaced; you can’t. See, the thing about a Buick is, well, it’s a Buick: it’s kinda tough, which means that anything that causes that much noticeable damage to one, even superficially, must’ve been moving with some force. And in this case, force means speed, and anyone pulling into a driveway going that fast is driving dangerous and stupid. I wasn’t just mad about the property damage, Finn; you—Blaine—anybody could have really hurt someone, driving that way, and I don’t know how you’d live with yourself if you did. Not to mention… well, I really *should* have mentioned… that you could have really hurt *yourself,* and that’s never gonna be okay. Not with your mom, not with your brother, not with your friends, and not with me.”

 

Burt saw understanding, guilt (misplaced,) and agreement cross Finn’s face, but the surprise at the end bugged him. He was realizing, months late, that his relationship with his stepson was… undefined, at best, and he didn’t like that. He wasn’t a real complicated guy, and he didn’t like not knowing the shape of his relationships, especially in his own house. More than that, he didn’t like Finn not knowing the shape of their relationship. But the mechanic wasn’t too sure how to fix that, and he didn’t feel like he had time at the moment, so he sighed and stood and put the chair back where it belonged. 

 

“Look, go ahead and get some rest, go back to sleep. Maybe with some headphones on—pretty sure it’s gonna get… vocal downstairs in a little while.” 

 

“Burt.” Finn’s voice stopped him as he got to the door, and he turned around. “Don’t yell at them too much, okay? What’s done is done. I mean, they were only protecting each other, you know?”

 

Burt took a long look at the long form on the short bed. “See, that’s the other thing you gotta learn, kid—my kid doesn’t need protecting from me. And neither should you.” He started out and then stopped again with his hand on the doorframe, turning back a last time. “By the way, I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you before I… you know. Had you ever been….?” To his relief, Finn seemed to understand what he meant, and he shook his head ruefully. Burt winced and grimaced. “Sorry, kid. Get some sleep.”

 

He closed the door to Finn’s room and took a deep breath before heading downstairs to have another uncomfortable conversation, although at least this time he was pretty settled about what to do.

 

\-----

 

Burt tried not to look like a flummoxed idiot when he answered the door about 45 minutes later, to find the guy from those commercials standing on his front step; of course, he’d known about Blaine’s brother since Kurt had chattered excitedly about it the day the guy had shown up at the school, but Burt wasn’t even used to his own (very minor) celebrity status. What the mechanic was, was a regular Joe, and while he might be startled, he really wasn’t all that impressed.

 

“Uh. Hi. Burt Hummel.” He stuck out his right hand, and the young man shook it with a somber nod.

 

“Cooper Anderson. It’s good to finally meet you, even if these aren’t the best circumstances. Is my brother all right?”

 

Hmmm. Polite but direct. Kurt had described the guy as charming but insincere, implying that Cooper’s last visit hadn’t exactly left Blaine feeling all warm and fuzzy. But after Burt led the young man into the small foyer, he met him eye-to-eye for a long moment, testing both his demeanor and the chance that Burt would feel comfortable letting him leave with the emotionally overwrought teenage boy. Burt knew what he himself thought Blaine needed, but most of that wasn’t’ likely to happen, so he could only look out for the boy’s general safety and vulnerability. And Cooper might be acting, but if he was, Burt couldn’t tell; the older brother seemed very serious, and very concerned about Blaine. 

 

Burt turned and walked down the hall to the interior garage door. He stepped just inside, taking in the two anxious boys who’d been silently taking pictures and writing lists of the damages to the respective vehicles that Burt had parked side-by-side in the garage… until the doorbell rang, he was sure. 

 

“Blaine,” Burt said calmly, “your father sent someone to take you home.” Blaine blushed faintly, probably thinking about one of Roland’s employees knowing about his state of disgrace. The mechanic was just fine with that—let the kid squirm with a little embarrassment. “You can finish that later. Your brother’s a busy guy; don’t wanna keep him waiting.” He managed to suppress a grin as the boys exchanged baffled looks from opposite sides of the garage, Blaine finishing with a raised eyebrow and a relieved little shrug. The expressive teenager turned back toward Burt, laying down his list and slipping his camera phone back into his pocket, his whole body relaxing. 

 

And then Burt felt Cooper step into the doorway behind him. The mechanic looked back to see Cooper’s eyes survey the damage to the vehicles and then slide over to meet his brother’s gaze; Burt turned forward in time to see Blaine pale and slump, and was pretty sure that the heard the boy mumble, “Oh, crap,” when Cooper told him to come.

 

Yep. Messing with teenagers was fun.

 

Blaine twisted again after a long moment, opening his mouth to speak to a very confused Kurt (ah, the two-for-one special—Kurt had obviously assumed that Blaine’s brother wouldn’t be bothered, and now he wasn’t entirely sure whether the Anderson boys were just acting for Burt’s sake, or were previewing what might be an uncomfortable trip home. Burt could practically feel that Cooper was Not Pleased with what he saw, and that made Burt feel a whole lot better.) Whatever Blaine meant to say, Cooper nixed with an eerily low, “Wrong button to push right now, baby brother.” Blaine’s eyes widened indignantly, and he was clearly about to either protest or snap at his brother, and Cooper, who had been standing with his arms folded across his chest and most of his weight on his left leg, evened his stance onto the balls of his feet and dropped his arms. “Really wrong button, Blaine Walker. Do I need to come get you?”

 

Everyone winced at that, albeit for different reasons (Walker? Really? They’d stuck a kid with that? Then again, Burt had gone to school with a kid whose first name was Pilsner. And she’d been a homecoming queen.) Whatever the subtext, though, Cooper’s warning worked, as Blaine slumped again and went to his brother’s side. Cooper nodded once to Kurt and then shook hands with Burt again. “Thanks for taking good care of our boy.”

 

“Anytime,” Burt replied. He followed them to the door, stopping Blaine with a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Blaine looked apprehensively up at the mechanic. Burt locked eyes with him and said quietly, “Plants, cars—they’re stuff. They can be replaced. You can’t. We wouldn’t be as upset if we didn’t care so much about you.” Blaine’s eyes misted over, and he nodded before dropping his head again. Burt gave the shoulder a squeeze and a pat and then let the boy follow his brother to the black Audi at the curb. 

 

Burt closed the door and turned to see Kurt standing right behind him, looking worried. “Did I say you could stop working? Garage! Now!” He sent his son back to the assigned task with a firm swat that earned him a very surprised squeak.

 

\-----

 

When Kurt came back to meekly say that he’d finished, Burt took him into the living room and sat him on the couch. Burt stood before him, arms folded. “Okay, kid,” he said, “time to settle up. How about you start by telling me what you were thinking? ‘Cause I’d really like to know why you felt the need to lie to me.” He waited a few beats, but Kurt just stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Well?” Burt prompted. “C’mon, Kurt, tell me just why. Have I done something horrible, something to make you not trust me?”

 

Kurt’s gaping distress gave way to horror. “No! No, Dad, never! You’re the best man I know—of course I trust you!” He couldn’t seem to inject enough conviction into the words to satisfy himself.

 

“Then why?” Burt’s voice softened a little. “You and me, we’ve always been able to trust each other, so why would you lie to me? Why would you convince two other people to lie to me?” 

 

“I didn’t think of it like that! And I didn’t ask anyone but Blaine!”

 

“Really,” Burt said. “So you didn’t ask Finn not to say anything?”

 

“No! Well, yeah, but I didn’t tell him anything worth saying, anyway, and I didn’t actually ask him to lie! And he didn’t have to agree!”

 

“Oh, unbelievable!” Burt tossed his hands into the air. “Well, I’ve obviously done a lousy job of parenting.”

 

Kurt realized pretty quickly that he’d better shape up. “Dad, no! I’m sorry, I know I should have just told you the truth in the first place. I just… I didn’t want Blaine to get in trouble.” 

 

“Okay. But why lie, Kurt? Am I really that much of an ogre?”

 

“No.” Kurt kicked his heel against the bottom of the couch’s front, the way he used to when he was little and had to admit to something he didn’t like. “It was stupid; I mean, I guess I knew that you’d be okay with it.”

 

Burt snorted. “Oh, I don’t know about ‘okay,’ kid. What Blaine did was almost as bad as drinking and driving—he was so angry that he wasn’t paying attention, and he’s really lucky that he didn’t hurt himself or someone else. He was impaired, he put himself and others in danger, and I will never be okay with that.” He let that sink in for a few seconds before adding, “But that shouldn’t ever stop you from being honest, especially with me; that’s part of being an adult, Kurt. Honesty isn’t always easy, and telling the truth doesn’t always buy your way out of consequences, but you do it anyway because it’s the right thing to do, and because you respect yourself and others.” 

 

By the time Burt was finished, Kurt had slumped down so low that he looked all of ten years old. Burt wanted to put his child out of his misery, but he knew that he wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors that way, so he let his words sink in for a minute before clearing his throat. “Stand up, son.” Kurt’s head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief and pleading, and Burt just raised one eyebrow. “Do I need to come and get you?”

 

Kurt gasped and shook his head, rocketing off of the couch and then hesitating, clearly not sure of what to do next. Burt nodded once to acknowledge Kurt’s choice, then stepped back and perched on the high right arm of the overstuffed easy chair that Carol had had redone for him. He beckoned his son to him, and when Kurt had finally shuffled within arm’s reach, the mechanic reached out and grasped the boy’s forearm and pulled him to stand next to his father’s right leg, which was supported on the arm of the chair. “I’m sorry we have to do this, kid, I really am, but we gotta settle this so we can move on, all of us.” With that (and a fortifying breath,) Burt gave a tug and draped his almost-adult son over his knee like a five-year-old, booted toes touching the floor. It had been years since they’d had to do this, and Burt understood why Kurt thought he was too old, but the truth was that Burt had gone a little easy (okay, maybe a lot easy) on his kid ever since Elizabeth had died, and besides, even if he thought that some other punishment would do the job here, it wouldn’t be anything approaching fair to Finn for him to haul off and paddle a kid he really barely knew and then be unwilling to do the same to his own.

 

Kurt’s brain took a moment to catch up to his reality, but his mouth started working all on its own before his brain could kick in, and he started pleading and protesting. Burt’s thick hand falling on Kurt’s narrow butt put a temporary stop to that; the boy’s pants, which were some kind of silk-blend cargoes, probably did absolutely nothing to cushion the kid’s seat, and the dad was happy enough about that because it meant that maybe this wouldn’t get drawn out any longer than it already had been.

 

That thought, and the relative quiet (aside, of course, from the only-slightly-muffled slapping sound that almost reverberated in the semi-open space,) lasted until about the fifth swat, when Kurt loudly decided that he’d had enough and tried to stand up. Burt pushed him back down into position and gave him one warning, but when the teenager started to get mouthy and kept straining to stand up, Burt sighed, banded his left arm across the thin back, and smacked four times on the same spot down low, with more force than he’d been using before. The kid couldn’t ignore *that,* and his snarky protests turned into a sort of whiny little wail, which turned into a squeak when Burt repeated the four harder swats on the other side. The mechanic decided that maybe he should have been using this much force all the time, so he kept it up, sometimes moving on after one smack and sometimes laying down two or three to a spot. He didn’t keep a count, or a pattern; once he’d started to be the one giving spankings rather than receiving them, he’d sort of figured that the whole point was to make sure that the person on the other, er, end was getting the message and filing it away for future reference. He thought that a count sort of felt like something for the benefit of the spanker, not the spankee, and that didn’t sit well with him. 

 

He kept smacking until Kurt had stopped fighting and whining and was moderately sniffling, and then Burt stopped smacking and rested his right arm next to his left, stretched out across his kid’s back. “We’re not done yet, kiddo, but we’re gettin’ there.” He knew that he had Kurt’s attention when the boy shook his head without raising it or speaking. “Yes, son, this is gonna happen. I’d like to stop now, but then all you’d learn is that I can still bust your butt, and while that’s a good lesson, it’s not enough. I need to be sure, really sure, that you understand how serious I am about lying and sneaking around and encouraging others to be dishonorable, and about letting someone else take the fall for something you know he didn’t do. I can’t be okay with you treating Finn or anyone else that way; fact is, what Blaine did was dangerous and stupid and not like him, but what you did was awfully close to bullying, and that’s not you. That’s never gonna be you. That’s never gonna be this family. Now, I know you know that, Kurt; I’ve seen you learning to take a stand, just like I’ve seen Finn learning to do, and I’m real proud of that, but I have to be able to trust you. I know that part of this is my fault--I’ve maybe let you get away with some things that I really shouldn’t have—and I’m sorry; that wasn’t doing right by you. I love you, Kurt Hummel, and I have faith in you. You’re an awesome kid, and you’re gonna be an awesome man someday soon, and I’m gonna try to do better about helping you get there. So let’s finish this, yeah?”

 

Kurt had grasped his right wrist with his left hand and rested his forehead on them, the top of his head brushing the inside of the left arm of the chair, and he’d sniffled his way through his father’s speech, shaking his head emphatically at Burt’s apology, but he hadn’t said anything. Burt gave them both about half a minute more to breathe, and then he pulled the paddle from the back of his waistband and glared at it before tapping it against the back of Kurt’s left thigh and feeling an answering twitch of the leg. Then Burt started paddling, single swats in random places, and Kurt revived somewhat, his body rising and tensing as he yelped. After a couple of swats, the yelps changed to whimpers in the back of the boy’s throat, and then to gasping sobs. It didn’t take long for him to wear down, and Burt finished up with two more solid whacks to each of those low spots. Then the paddle went flying over to the couch, and Kurt went back onto his own two feet and into his father’s arms, where Burt tucked him securely into the hollow between neck, shoulder, and chest. The mechanic patted and rubbed the quivering back and let the tears (and other stuff, he was sure) soak into his shirt. 

 

He’d missed holding his kid, he learned. Yeah, how they’d gotten here had inhaled big-time, but it had been a long time since he’d had Kurt in his arms for more than ten seconds, and while Burt wasn’t the cushy type, he was man enough to admit that he liked a good cuddle now and then, especially from someone who had literally been made to fit against him. Kurt had always needed some reassurance after a punishment, not so much that he was loved, but more that he was still forgiven and protected.

 

Somewhere in all of this musing, it occurred to the mechanic to wonder what else he’d gotten wrong in this mess—what did Finn need? Somehow Burt didn’t see his stepson snuggling into his shoulder and falling asleep, which was what Kurt seemed to be trying his level best to do right now, but there had to be something, some way to let Finn know that the world hadn’t ended and that he hadn’t lost… whatever they had. How could Burt make Finn feel safe? What did they have?

 

\-----

 

Carol’s flight had been delayed three times, so by the time Burt got her home on Saturday night, it was nearly 3AM and they were both beat. She curled up in bed as soon as she could get out of her shoes, and she asked how he could stand to be in the same bed with her when she hadn’t even taken a shower; he shrugged and said, “’Love is…’” and she chuckled tiredly at his reference to the vintage comic.

 

He asked about her trip, and she gave him the bullet points and promised more entertaining stories later over brunch… or possibly lupper, because she wasn’t at all promising to be awake before noon. As she started to drift, she murmured her own question, and Burt woke her enough to tell her the basics and to confess to paddling her kid. Carol gazed at him for a couple of minutes, then put her hand on his cheek and asked if they’d both survived; when he said they had, she smiled a little and said that they’d all discuss it in a few hours. He was fine with that, but as he held her hands and closed his eyes, he said, “And while we’re at it, I think we need to talk to both of our kids about the definition of protection.”

 

Her eyes flew open. “Burt… you don’t think… both of them are…?”

 

It took a few seconds for him to catch up with her, and then he snorted self-consciously. “I really don’t know. I hope not. But that’s not the kind of protection I mean—I think they need to know how and when brothers are supposed to protect each other, and from what… and that the ‘what’ doesn’t include us. Even if I am an ogre.”

 

She mumbled her general agreement, and they drifted off to sleep together, safe and sound.


End file.
